


Love Like a Sunset

by snarkyscorp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, some homophobia but that's what the fic deals with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-02
Updated: 2011-08-02
Packaged: 2017-11-05 18:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkyscorp/pseuds/snarkyscorp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wizarding community in Britain is a very conservative place. Scorpius is the leader of a rebellious group of queer young folk, out and proud and pushing as hard as they can against the strictures of their society. He's the most over the top, wild, flamboyant man that Head Auror Harry has ever met. Scorpius might as well walk about under a giant sign that declares him the gayest man in Britain (and once, he did). Harry is terrified that Scorpius will figure him out, but, god, he can't stop thinking about what might happen if he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Like a Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hpsmfest.livejournal.com/profile)[**hpsmfest**](http://hpsmfest.livejournal.com/). Title affectionately borrowed from the song of the same name by Phoenix.  
>  Love and kisses to my [](http://bryoneybrynn.livejournal.com/profile)[**bryoneybrynn**](http://bryoneybrynn.livejournal.com/) for the beta! All remaining mistakes are my own.

  


  
**Love Like a Sunset**   


Sitting across from Kingsley had ceased to intimidate Harry. For the past eighteen years, Harry had been his right-hand man, Head Auror for an increasingly independent office of Aurors, who were the best in their fields, and his long time confidant and friend. Though Kingsley was intimidating to many men, Harry wasn't one of them. However, Kingsley had the morning edition of _The Daily Prophet_ sitting on his lap, open to page six, where there was a photograph of a young man in the middle of a rally, waving around his wand, which emitted not sparks of anger but beautiful rainbow sparkles that showered over him and about a hundred others behind him. Harry knew all too well the young man in the photograph, and he knew all too well what Kingsley thought of him and what Kingsley wanted to talk about. They'd had the conversation before.

Harry sat down in a comfortable leather armchair in Kingsley's sitting area, sighing heavily as he reached for his teacup, which was already full and topped off with a single creamer and two cubes of sugar, just the way he liked it. Before Kingsley could begin the inevitable conversation, Harry said, "Please don't tell me you want me on the Malfoy case."

Kingsley's silence all but sentenced Harry to exactly what he pleaded against. Harry's teacup rattled as he set it down roughly against its matching saucer.

"You're not serious," Harry said. "Kingsley—"

"It's out of my hands, Harry."

"You're the _Minister for Magic_ ," Harry rebuked. "There's nothing that's out of your hands."

"Look, frankly, I'd like to purge the Ministry of this mess just as badly as you, but unfortunately, you're the last one standing. Weasley can't handle it given his obvious personal bias, McClain and Sinestra are too green, and you fired the only other Auror who does protective detail as well as you."

"Auror Todd?" Harry pressed his lips tightly together in a firm, annoyed line. "He quit, actually. Bloody awful Auror, anyway. I was glad to be rid of him."

"Well, you're not helping matters," Kingsley barked. "Your department is small enough as it is—"

"Intimate," Harry argued.

Harry could tell Kingsley's expression teetered on amused, but he was all business as he explained, "I understand where you're coming from. Malfoy is…an unexpected burden. But we don't take cases based on whether or not you like them."

"I didn't say that," Harry snapped. "It's not that I don't want to take the case…"

Kingsley fixed him with a knowing look. The two men remained quiet for a time, until Kingsley's low whisper broke the silence. "If it's because of Malfoy's…provocative nature…"

Harry's face suddenly felt incredibly warm. He bolted to his feet and tore both hands through his gray-peppered hair. "I'm not homophobic," he growled. "Merlin's beard, if another article is printed about that shit, I'm going to lose my head. It's ridiculous, and that's not the point here."

Kingsley stood as well and placed a large hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm not accusing you of anything, Harry; I'm just saying I would feel the same way if I were in your shoes."

With a glare towards Kingsley, Harry nudged his hand away. "Yeah, somehow I doubt that." Instantly, Harry regretted saying that aloud and tried to cover the abrasive slight with a quick change of subject. "I'm all for equal rights, no matter what, but I'm just not…comfortable around Malfoy. Just like Ron, I don't want my personal biases to influence my ability to help him in any way."

"But unlike Weasley, you don't hate the Malfoy family with a fiery passion that cannot be contained," Kingsley said, cracking a brief smile before his face hardened once again. "I'm sorry, Harry, but if you don't accept willingly, it'll be an order." He clapped Harry on the back again. "I know you'll handle it, like you handle everything else, with the respect and diligence it deserves."

"Doesn't sound like I have much of a choice," Harry sighed. He gave into Kingsley's warm hand, shoulders slumping under is weight. "What exactly am I supposed to tell Malfoy, about the Ministry's position on his agenda, by the way? You know he'll ask, and I'm not going in unprepared."

"Tell him exactly the same thing you did when he was arrested for public indecency last fall–we can't support his cause publicly, but we'll protect him just the same as any man."

The uncomfortable twist in Harry's stomach had less to do with the idea of protecting Malfoy from harm and more to do with Kingsley's explanation. As an agent of the Ministry, Harry was bound by their rules too, much as he might disagree with them from time to time. And he wasn't entirely sure he completely disagreed with the Ministry's policy of supportive silence on a sensitive, hot-button issue like gay rights, even when it didn't sit right with him. It was just that it seemed a lifetime ago that he had fought to bring this Ministry to its current heading, and he'd be damned if one nineteen year old with a talent for drawing a crowd would ruin that for everyone, just because he thought a few things were unfair at a time of peace for the rest of the world. And frankly, Malfoy's definition of unfair seemed slanted in a specific direction, tailored to his own personal needs, and didn't Harry have enough on his plate without being at the other end of a leash on Malfoy? None of it sat right with him, not the idea of protecting Malfoy from phantom threats or the knowledge that he had bias in regards to doing it nor even his thoughts about the Ministry's stance on Malfoy's community.

Maybe Harry was the best man for the job, but that didn't settle his stomach in any regard.

~~~

"I heard the news!" Albus shouted, as he barreled through Harry's Floo and burst into his office in a fit of soot and flames. His dark hair was askew at every angle, bright green eyes wide and hopeful, and a brilliant white smile on his face that Harry hadn't seen in ages. "Please, tell me this isn't just _Prophet_ fodder. Are you really on Scorpius' protective duty?"

"You've got to stop using my office Floo without permission," Harry grumbled, though he couldn't summon the energy to sound even remotely upset with his son. At least he visited, unlike James who was always away with his Quidditch mates or Lily who was vacationing with Ginny and Teddy at Charlie's reserve in Romania for the summer.

"Dad," Al persisted, slamming both hands flat to Harry's desktop. He leaned over, fixing Harry with a pleading look. "Are you helping Scorpius or what?"

The same suspicions Harry had had in his gut for about seven years now flooded his senses, whirling in various directions. Al's finely-tailored robes, the way he spoke, the way he looked at Malfoy, how he walked, how he'd never had a girlfriend, how sensitive he'd been as a child, the way he clung to Ginny, the way Hagrid said Al was just _sensitive_ … The list of reasons why Harry thought his son was gay could have filled yards of parchment. Some of them seemed cliché and overly-paranoid, some of them were justifiable (like the way he looked at Malfoy—there was no mistaking the looks Al gave him), and some just made Harry feel sick. He thought he was a good father, capable of understanding most anything his children went through, but the idea that Albus was gay rattled him for reasons he couldn't quite grasp. Maybe he didn't want his son to go through what gay wizards went through these days—even Harry didn't miss the _Prophet_ articles about gay and lesbian suicides—or maybe he really was homophobic deep down in his gut. All Harry really knew was that he didn't want Al to be gay, and whatever that made him–bigoted monster or sympathetic and struggling parent–he'd take for what it was worth, because nobody would ever say he didn't love his son, no matter what.

"It's not _Prophet_ fodder," Harry finally said, as evenly as he could manage.

With a whoop of joy, Al punched his fists in the air and jumped around hollering. "All right, Dad! That's brilliant!"

Harry forced a dry laugh and looked down at the pile of paperwork and files he still had to mull over before meeting with Malfoy at the Leaky the next afternoon. "Yeah, bully for me."

Al paused mid-air-punch and then drooped a bit, his posture deflated. "You're not excited. Of course you're not excited. You're only about to change bloody history! No reason to get worked up or anything."

"I don't see how my babysitting Malfoy is going to change history," Harry mumbled. "In fact, if anything, it's taking time away from my serious cases."

Instantly, Harry knew he'd said the wrong thing. Of course he hadn't meant to berate what Malfoy was doing, but Al seemed to have heard it that way–he wasted no time slamming his fists to Harry's desk for a second time and fixed him with an angry, cold glower. Harry knew that look all too well. It was the same look Al had been wearing nonstop since he turned fifteen, since he started wearing different clothes, hanging out with Malfoy and his mates, going to rallies and late concerts, reading books about sex and dark magic. And it was indeed the same look that Harry got every time he asked Albus where he was going or who he was hanging out with or if he had found a girlfriend yet. Al had the look down.

"Serious cases," Al parroted, quietly. " _Serious cases_ , Dad."

Harry set his quill down and cleared his throat. "You know I didn't mean—"

"You never do."

Al's words were crisp and concise. They cut Harry to the quick; though he couldn't be sure what Al was getting at, Harry bristled nonetheless under the attack. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Al laughed and stood up straight, brushing off his robes as he sauntered towards the fireplace. "You never _mean_ anything, and yet you always find a way to say hateful, bigoted, ignorant things."

"Now, just a minute, Al," Harry growled. He could feel the heat swarming under his skin, his immediate reaction to any unannounced threat. "I just meant that I'm heavily loaded with assassins, rapists, and thieves. Serious crimes that need handling. Protecting Malfoy from what he perceives as death threats isn't exactly—"

"You think he deserves those threats, then?" Al asked, whirling around to face Harry, arms folded and expression so stubborn it was almost like looking into a mirror.

"Of course not. Nobody deserves to be threatened for what they believe." Harry tried to keep everything else tight-lipped–he tried very, very hard–but somehow he blurted, "It's just that I think making up threats so he can get protective detail from Head Auror Potter spins a good story for the _Prophet_ ," before he could stop himself.

Al gaped, his jaw dropping and eyes widening. For a moment, the silence was vicious between them. "You…you think he's _making it up_?" Al laughed. He tipped his head back and shook it, long dark hair swaying. "Merlin's fucking beard—"

"Albus," Harry snapped.

"—Does there have to be a physical dead body splayed in front of your eyes for you to take things seriously?" Albus wiped his face with both hands and lowered his head with a sigh. "You're so blind, Dad. You've got these important cases, right? With people dying, getting hurt and abused, and I get that, I really do, but I thought you used to fight for people who had no rights, who were in trouble, ready to die for their beliefs, for who they are. If you don't care, that's one thing and I could almost forgive that, but if you're just going to pretend you don't see that this is a revolution and you're going to ignore that you and the Ministry are part of the problem, then you're just a bloody idiot."

Something bit cold and insidious inside Harry's chest, tangling amidst all the mixed feelings about his son's sexuality and being on Malfoy's protective duty and hearing that he was a failure to his son. Harry felt winded, like he'd been bludgeoned on the Quidditch pitch and sent spiraling hundreds of feet through the air. His head spun and his gut churned in nausea. He couldn't summon the necessary words to reply. Was he really blind? Was Malfoy's little guild some kind of revolution? Was Harry part of the problem, as unwilling to see what was happening as Fudge was in his day?

Al must have sensed that he'd really dropped a bomb on his father, because he approached and frowned at Harry solemnly. "I love you, Dad. I think you're a great father, an excellent Auror…and unfortunately a very staunch believer in how good you think the world is now and not how bad it can really be for some of us."

Turning back to the Floo, Al hurried through it and was gone with a sighed, "Malfoy Manor," loud enough for Harry to easily hear.

The smoke and ash that lingered in the fireplace left Harry with a distinctly ill feeling in his stomach. He stared at the place where Al had been, just thinking over everything and trying not to be disgusted with the idea of just what Al would be doing with Malfoy when they united at Malfoy Manor. He could see it without wanting to, a million images flashing before his eyes–Al jumping out of the Floo and into Malfoy's waiting embrace; Al and Malfoy kissing, their mouths sloppy and hands insistent; Al kneeling, Malfoy grinning above.

Harry brought both hands to his face. Glasses tossed aside on his desk, he scrubbed his skin, dug the butts of his palms into his eyes and down his cheeks, and then lowered his head to the surface of the desk. His forehead hit with a thud atop numerous arrest files, a profile and history of Scorpius H Malfoy beneath, the pile thick and cold below Harry's skin. Malfoy's young face looked out from the files, waving prettily and batting rainbow-coloured lashes at him, his clothes glittering and obscene, a sign reading _Stop the Hate Before It's Too Late_ sparkling behind him.

All at once, Harry wished for Ginny as he hadn't in the seven years following their amicable divorce. Ginny would know what to say. Ginny would be able to tell Al everything would be okay, that she loved him no matter what, and Ginny would never even consider being disgusted over her son's potential sexuality scandal. Ginny wouldn't think what it would do to her career. Ginny wouldn't wish anything less on her son than whatever he wanted in life.

But Ginny wasn't there. She was in Romania, thousands of miles away and probably racing dragons with Charlie, Teddy, and Lily.

With a guilty conscience nagging him into action, Harry called his owl in and scrawled a quick note to Ginny, sending the bird on his way with a small snack. He didn't bother reading his letter over, in fear that he might throw it away if he tried to edit himself. It read, simply:

  
_Gin,  
I think Al's gay. I'm not sure what to do. I'm supposed to work with Scorpius Malfoy, on protective duty, but I don't think I can handle it. Any words of wisdom?  
I miss you,  
Harry  
P.S. Don't let Lily near the Horntail._   


Ginny's reply came early the next morning, just as Harry was rising to get ready for work:

  


_Harry,  
Don't be daft: Al is _ *definitely* _gay. You should be more worried that Lily is apparently dating Teddy now (yes, he and Victoire are over—again—I'll tell you more when I'm back in London). Be glad you didn't see what your daughter wanted to wear this afternoon to see him.  
As for Scorpius… Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter? Since when do you not know how to handle a Malfoy??  
My words of wisdom: don't overthink this assignment.  
I miss you, too, and wish you could be here–the Horntail sends her regards.  
Ginny_  


~~~

When Harry showed up at the Leaky Cauldron, he could have sworn he accidentally walked into the wrong place. It was still dark and dank as ever, just as dreary as it always was, and would have been business as usual if not for the crowd of witches and wizards in full rainbow garb, platform boots, fetish gear, drag, and things Harry didn't even have names for. Two older witches were handcuffed together near the makeshift stage, a boy wearing a woman's bra and panties over his regular clothes sauntered around with drinks for some friends in bright purple tunics, burly men with hairy chests dragged feminine boys around by collars, and most everyone looked towards the stage, where Scorpius Malfoy stood, chatting with an older bloke who made a terrible-looking woman.

Before Harry could get to the stage to see Malfoy, someone grabbed the crook of his arm. Harry's heart jumped, but when he turned with his wand outstretched, it was just Neville on the other end.

"Oi, give a bloke a heart attack, why don't you?" Harry said, though he laughed it off as he pocketed his wand.

"Sorry," Neville said. "Tried calling you over but it's a bit loud in here these days, what with Malfoy's Gay Wizarding Liberation Front in here just about every night."

Harry sighed. "One guess as to why I'm here."

"Well, I didn't think it was because you were signing up to play on their team." Neville grinned, gesturing to the bar. "Fancy a pint? Hannah's been working her arse off to keep the glasses full, but I can grab one for you if you like."

"Can't," Harry lamented. "Sadly, I'm on duty."

"In here?" Neville shrugged, glancing around as he scratched the back of his neck. "They're a rowdy crowd, but nothing to be concerned about. Never seen any of them raise a wand unless it was for a refill on their drinks."

"I'm, erm, actually here just for Malfoy. Speak of the devil."

On the stage, Malfoy had spotted Harry, and his gray eyes lit up like silver as he pushed through the crowd to reach him.

"See you round then," Neville called, patting Harry on the back as Harry moved towards Malfoy. The two met between a group of middle-aged witches with buzzed pink hair that sparkled in the back with the word 'Dyke' carved out like an advertisement against their skulls.

"Harry!" Malfoy called, leaping from amidst the crowd to throw his arms around Harry's neck. Somewhere in his peripheral, Harry heard the all too familiar _click_ of a camera. Malfoy didn't seem to notice. "Al told me the wonderful news last night. I'm thrilled!"

Up close, it was easy to see why Al might fancy Scorpius Malfoy. Though he had his father's sharp looks, his mother's softness tempered them, and he was tall and lean and fit, just the kind of bloke who could have any girl he wanted; the toss of his blond hair could start a stampede for him. Trouble was, Malfoy was obviously not interested in girls, and Harry had that same awful feeling that Malfoy was probably very interested in Al in return. He didn't know what constituted a good-looking gay couple, but he was sure Scorpius and Al would have defined it.

"Please, call me Auror Potter, Malfoy," Harry said, gingerly disentangling from Malfoy's intense embrace while trying to be nice about it.

Scorpius scoffed, leaning back to have a look at Harry. "If you call me Malfoy one more time, I swear, I'll spell your hair purple for life, _Auror Potter_. It's Scorpius. Very easily-pronounceable and fabulous as fuck. Now, follow me. I've got to change."

Already, Harry regretted his decision to take Kingsley's assignment without a fight. Not a minute in and he was already itching to be anywhere else. As he followed Scorpius through the crowd, a few more cameras snapped photographs and Scorpius was stopped several times for brief conversation; Harry himself was stopped twice, just to be asked _are you a member or supporter?_ Flattering to some but not to Harry. The thought made him uncomfortable at best.

"Don't look so frightened," Scorpius hummed as he closed the two of them in a back room, which had been transformed into a modest dressing area, all pink glitter wigs, makeup, and vinyl as far as the eye could see. "Nobody's going to try and convert you or anything. We all know you're straight as…erm…I don't have any good anecdotes for straight men."

Harry resisted a brief smile as he offered, "Straight as an arrow?"

Scorpius laughed. "An arrow? That's the gayest symbol in the world—big, long shaft with a wide tip? Yeah, not straight, Harry."

Moving to the corner of the room, Scorpius slipped behind a silk screen and began to toss his clothes outside it. Harry rolled his eyes, turning his face away, not really keen on getting even a brief glimpse of Malfoy naked. He already figured the _Prophet_ was having a field day with his even being there, let alone locked in a room with Malfoy while he undressed. He could only imagine the headlines in tomorrow's paper.

"So I'm glad you're going to be my protective duty," Scorpius continued.

"Oh, why's that?" Harry asked, admiring the wood of the door as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Because you're not biased, obviously." The sound of several zippers could be heard as well as some clunking of heels behind the screen. "You've fought for minority rights in the past—you've done brilliant things for house-elves and werewolves especially. You're Al's dad. You'll be a good advocate for our fight."

Wincing at the mention of his son, Harry turned just as Scorpius exited around the side of the screen, dressed in a blue shimmering evening gown and heels so tall that Harry thought it was a wonder Scorpius' head didn't hit the ceiling. He was already rather tall to begin with, at least a head above Harry anyway, but wasn't everyone? The idea that Harry was supposed to protect him when he stood out like a sore thumb seemed ever more ridiculous now that Malfoy looked himself. Or herself. Harry wasn’t about to offend him with the wrong pronouns.

"I think you've been misinformed," Harry said, maintaining as even a tone as he could. "I'm not here as an advocate. I'm just your protective duty. Nothing more, nothing less."

Scorpius studied Harry for a time and then bent over the dresser to apply fake rainbow eyelashes and paint his lips with blue and silver stars. A delicate, long-haired silver wig was the final touch, snug atop Scorpius' head and completely covering his thick length of blond hair. He used his wand to mutter a few sticking and trimming spells to get it just right. When Harry caught Scorpius' reflection in the mirror, he could have been looking at a woman if Scorpius hadn't made it obvious and overdone that he was in drag.

"You're a good man," Scorpius said quietly. "Al says so all the time, so I've got to believe that. I think you'll come around. We could use a man like you on the inside."

"Again," Harry reiterated, his speech terse now and unforgiving. "Misunderstanding. I'm not here to pick sides. You say you're receiving death threats, so I—"

"Yeah, they're here," Scorpius said dismissively, waving his hand. He tipped over a small jewelry box and out clattered what looked like hundreds of letters, a few petrified howlers, and charmed objects encased in magical bubbles. "This is only the first box. I've loads more at the Manor, if you're interested in perusing the things bigoted arseholes find amusing to owl me with. Don’t touch the bubbles, by the way—there’s poison inside them. Found that out the hard way when Mum tried to throw one of them in the fire and the whole Manor filled with noxious purple smoke— _purple_ , Harry, as if just to rub it in my face. Luckily, we got my mother to St. Mungo's in time for an antidote. After that happened, we just started putting protective spells on everything unidentifiable from any addresses we didn't recognise. So don't owl me unless you give me your address first."

Harry approached the piled mess with a frown and knelt to retrieve a letter. He tapped it with his wand and the letter lengthened to its proper size. Steadying himself, Harry read it over aloud. " _You should be burned in the fires of hell_ ," he said quietly. " _Queers aren't wizards—you should be ashamed of yourself_." Harry read the rest in silence, horrible things, insults, threats, offers to _fuck Scorpius straight_ and all manner of disgust. Harry looked up. Scorpius stood tall and seemingly unaffected, looking down at Harry as if waiting for the weather report. A horrible thought popped into Harry's head: what if Al got letters like this? "Where did these come from?"

"I wouldn't be asking for protective duty if I knew that, now would I, Harry?" Scorpius smiled softly and offered a hand to help Harry up.

"Ah, right." Harry accepted, out of politeness, and then removed his wand from his pocket to shrink the letters back into Malfoy's jewelry box. "I just…didn't think that—"

"That this was serious, I know." Scorpius turned back to his mirror, glossing his lips and adding a glamour of glitter over his face and bare shoulders, down the slope of his back where the dress dipped dangerously low near the edge of his spine. "But now you see what I'm dealing with. What we're all dealing with."

Again, Scorpius said _we_ , and Harry's thoughts swung to Al, the image of Al receiving threats prickling the back of his brain. If somebody threatened Al, Harry would have their bollocks. Al was a quiet boy, not at all flamboyant like Scorpius, but if Harry and Ginny knew he was gay, then who else? And if he hung around with Scorpius, he was bound to be caught up in Malfoy's gatherings, protests, and demonstrations. Al would have a Scorpius-sized target on him if he continued on the same path, and if he got too close, if a spell went awry…

"So maybe you don't want to be an advocate for either side," Scorpius continued. "But there will come a time when everyone has to choose one point of view or the other. You can't hide in the middle ground of clumsy misunderstanding forever." Scorpius flashed a brief, dazzling smile at Harry and reached out, clapping a delicate hand on Harry's shoulder. "Besides, you see the stodgy side of the Wizarding World every day at the Ministry. Once you've had a taste of the fabulous queers, you'll never go back."

Harry choked on nothing in particular, not quite sure how to respond to that kindly. Luckily, Scorpius went back to preening in front of the mirror.

"My schedule is pretty packed these next few days," Scorpius remarked after a few pads of blush to his pale cheeks. "You've got your work cut out for you. Tonight is the Gay Wizarding Liberation Front meeting here at the Leaky, then tomorrow morning a few of us are postering Hogsmeade for the rally next weekend, tomorrow night I need to make an appearance at that club, Mixed, down in London, then more poster-hanging because the haters will have obviously pulled them down, and then I'm making an impromptu appearance at the Ministry during Arthur Beaumont's hate crimes trial and—"

"Why don't you write this all down and owl it to me?" Harry sighed. "It sounds exhausting just having you recite it to me; I can't imagine how tired you must be."

"The cause never sleeps, Harry." Scorpius stood back to admire himself. The dim lights in the small room glistened off the sparkles on the spots of bare skin that Scorpius showed, his skin pale and smooth, not a freckle or bump to mar him.

"And just what does your father think of all this?" Harry asked after a moment. Having grown up with Draco, having been on the receiving end of his very biased ideals, Harry had to wonder. He was sure Draco wasn't a member of any organisations for parents of gay children or rallying in the streets for equal rights, anyway.

To his surprise though, Scorpius just laughed and waved him off. "It's obvious that I am what I am, Harry; there's no hiding my queerness. My father was amused when I tried on Mum’s heels when I was six. He was confused when I was still doing it at fifteen. Now, he just asks which colour I’d prefer when he buys me pumps for my birthday." Scorpius shrugged, smoothing down invisible wrinkles in his gown. "I told him a long time ago that he can either accept me the way I am or…" After a dismissive wave of his hand, Scorpius then lifted his skirts to begin his walk to the door. Unsurprisingly, he looked like he was born to walk in heels.

"If you see anybody suspicious," Harry said at the door, holding it open for Scorpius without thinking. "Give me a signal. I'll be at your side as much as I can, but I assume you'll be on the stage too, and despite whatever rumours you may have heard, I don't have eyes in the back of my head."

Both of Scorpius' brows rose as he flashed a grin. "It's a good thing I don't listen to rumours then, isn't it? But really, we should have a signal of some sort. How about I blow you a kiss if I notice anybody suspicious?"

Harry gritted his teeth. And things had been going so well.

"Gods, Harry, that was a joke!" Scorpius gave him a playful smack against his shoulder and stepped out to a wave of applause. "Relax, have a good time, and keep an eye out for me." He paused, a seriousness in his tone as he added, "And thank you for taking this case. I know you have cases you'd rather be taking, and I do appreciate it."

The night began, as Harry unfortunately assumed many more during this assignment might: with a blur of rainbows, sparkles, and Scorpius blowing kisses at him every five minutes, whether as a joke or to get under his skin, Harry wasn't sure. Harry took it as a joke, kept his eyes peeled, and made a mental note to listen more closely to Scorpius' speeches than he might previously have. It was important to Al at the very least, and that made it important to Harry.

~~~

Sitting across from Scorpius, who hadn't bothered to remove any makeup or costuming since the rally in the Leaky Cauldron hours ago, Harry truly felt like he was on display. For the first time in his life, though, he knew it wasn't because of the aged white scar on his forehead or the fact that he was Head Auror Harry Potter—it was because Scorpius was, for lack of a better way to put it, a bright blue, rainbow-lashed, sparkly eyesore. Heads turned when they entered the small café, and none of them were turning for Harry. Two large wizards in the corner completely stopped talking mid-sentence, a party of older witches nearly dropped their teacups, their chatter crisp and under their breaths, and there were scowls on the faces of about seventy percent of the customers in the café.

"Harry," Scorpius hummed, catching Harry's attention.

"What?"

"Are you going to ask those elderly ladies to join us, or are you going to order something?"

Harry gave a wry grin despite his best attempts to stop the expression. "I'm not here to order food, Scorpius. I'm here to—"

"Protect and serve me, yes, I know. But Aurors eat, don't they? You didn't get all those muscles and that wicked physique from starving yourself." Scorpius waved at the menu, and if he noticed the way his comment warmed Harry's face he was polite enough not to show it. "My treat, of course."

"I'll have a tea then," Harry said, his gaze back on the two burly wizards in the corner before he finished his sentence. The men were hunched over the table now, talking in low growls, and the one Harry could see best kept nodding towards Scorpius. With the way Scorpius was dressed, Harry wouldn't be surprised if trouble found them tonight. He felt guilty for wishing Scorpius had changed, the thought _he's just asking for it_ popping into his head unannounced. Instantly, he could hear Hermione's contentious voice snapping, _if Scorpius was a woman, you'd never say she was asking for it_ in response. Harry's brain promptly stopped thinking anything but along those lines, a lump of guilt replacing the mess of thoughts.

The waitress came a few minutes later, and though she gave Scorpius a second look as well, she didn't stare or gawk. "What can I get for you tonight?"

"I'm famished," Scorpius said pleasantly. "So I'll have the cheese on toast with a side of the sweet cabbage and a chai tea if you have that. My mate here wants a tea and a blueberry muffin."

When the waitress left, Harry glanced at Scorpius. "A blueberry muffin?"

Scorpius bit his lower lip and grinned a bit, a look that was decidedly _not_ like one of his father's grins but certainly just as sly, though also a bit like he was trying to bite back a laugh. "You looked like you could use one. I don't know, it was between that or a lemon scone with extra cream, and that seemed too queer."

Harry felt his face warming again under the look Scorpius gave him, so he turned his attention back to the wizards, covertly measuring his stares between their glances in Scorpius' direction. "Well then I'm glad for the blueberry muffin."

"See? I'm looking out for you, Harry. Wouldn't want anyone to mistake all that throttled masculine energy for, say, your overcompensation of homoerotic desires."

Now Harry couldn't concentrate on the wizards. His eyes found Scorpius', swept over his impish grin and bitten lip, and then rolled. "You're trying to get under my skin, aren't you?"

"A joke," Scorpius said, holding both hands up and laughing. "I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. You didn't even laugh at the queer cream scone, so I had to try it one step further. Do you really think those wizards are trouble?"

"How did you—"

"I'm sitting across from you looking fabulous in this blue gown, but you've only got eyes for the two straightest pricks in this café—and yes, I know I just said 'straight pricks' and it was a very clever pun." He shrugged. "I assumed. Besides, I'm an expert at knowing when I'm not wanted."

Harry winced a bit. "I'm sure it's not that. It's…" Harry realised he couldn't think of a more apt way to put it. The wizards obviously didn't want Scorpius in their café, simply because of the way he was dressed, the way he acted. He was, for all intents and purposes, 'too gay'. It made Harry feel worse for having fought with Kingsley about taking the case on. Even if Scorpius made him uncomfortable, that didn't mean Scorpius didn't deserve the same rights and protection that every other wizard would get under the same level of threats. He deserved to be taken seriously. He deserved to be able to eat at a café wearing whatever the hell he pleased and not worrying whether or not someone was going to have a problem. "Okay, maybe that is it."

Their drinks arrived, along with cream and sugar, which Harry added to his own and stirred, taking note that the two elderly witches made a commotion about leaving the café and shortchanging the server. Their pointed looks and rude gestures at Scorpius said it all.

"So," Scorpius said, seemingly unperturbed, even though he must have seen the witches leave the same as Harry.

"So," Harry mimicked, quirking a brow as he finished stirring his tea and brought the cup to his lips. "What?"

"I was just curious. Why, exactly, did Minister Kingsley assign you to my case?"

Harry shrugged, not really willing to go into a full disclosure when Scorpius was already feeling unwanted. For some reason, he found himself caring quite a bit about how Scorpius felt about things. "He thought I was the best man for the job."

"And I'm sure you are." Scorpius sipped his drink and leaned back, watching Harry.

"And you have more questions," Harry said, grinning a bit. "Go ahead. I'm here with you—you may as well get the basic History of Magic queries out of the way."

Scorpius quirked a brow. "Oh, the war stuff? No, I get enough of that from my father. And I trust the accounts you gave, which are supremely fascinating by the way, for Hermione Granger-Weasley's edited _History of Magic_ tome. No, what I want to know is more of current events, actually."

"Go on, then," Harry said.

Scorpius hesitated only briefly, fixing Harry with a knowing look, before he asked, "Why are you so against the Gay Liberation Front's cause of equal rights for the LGBT?"

"I'm not _against_ it," Harry said tersely.

"You ought to try telling Al that, then. He thinks you're on the Ministry's side."

"The Ministry doesn't have a side."

"Harry, you're not stupid. The Ministry has a side for every issue—the laws are black and white. I'm not saying it's anybody's fault, but they haven't offered an ounce of help to our cause and they shoot down every proposal on LGBT rights that I carry before them. It's sort of disgusting, actually, how quickly they shake their heads at the sight of me, just as you do."

Harry frowned. "I have no problem with you or your cause, Scorpius."

"Don't you? Harry, please. You look at me and cringe. I touch you in a way that if any straight man did you wouldn't think twice but because I'm gay, because I dress like this, you flinch. Maybe if I didn't dress up like a woman, you think. Maybe if I didn't wear rainbow robes to the Ministry when I strut before the Wizengamot I'd be taken more seriously. Maybe if I was less flamboyant, less feminine, less queer, less whatever. You're as easy to read as any of them, afraid of something different, something odd, something not in your definition of normal or safe. But this is who I am. You're comfortable dressing in Auror robes or denims and jumpers—I feel best when I'm in six inch heels and rainbow wigs. When I tried to be a 'normal' boy in Hogwarts, I was miserable. When I try to be like everybody else, I just…I wither, Harry."

Scorpius leaned forward and fixed Harry with a sincere, heartbroken stare. Instantly, Harry felt awed by such intensity, able to put himself in Scorpius' shoes all too easily. He remembered what it was like to be different, to feel like nobody understood, to have no one to talk to about Voldemort in his head and his parents' deaths and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Scorpius went on. "I feel like I'd rather die than try to fit into some mould, that I'm incomplete when I do, that there's nothing here for me that way. And I'm not alone. And I'm just lucky that I _do_ have support now, that people told me it was okay as I was growing up, that my parents didn't toss me to the curb when they saw me painting my nails instead of reaching for a Quaffle. Because I am out and queer and feminine and whatever that makes me, I'll take it, because I'm proud to be this way."

Harry sat in stunned silence, unable to so much as come up with a statement to agree or disagree. Scorpius nearly had tears in his eyes, and to hear him speak, it was like someone had sucked all the air from the room. Yet again, a wave of guilt rumbled in Harry's chest, crashing into turmoil in his stomach. Did Al feel that way? That he would rather be dead that forced to change? Was he happiest being gay, with Scorpius? And if so, why would Harry ever take issue with any of it, if it made his son happy?

"I…"

The waitress chose that moment to arrive with their food, setting Scorpius' meal before him and Harry's muffin beside his teacup. "Will there be anything else?"

"No, we're all right," Scorpius said, lifting his fork and giving it a singular twirl. He gestured towards Harry's muffin. "Tuck in, Harry."

~~~

Scorpius was running Harry ragged. Not only did Harry have other commitments at the Ministry between Malfoy's outings but he also had to somehow make time to eat and sleep, which meant half of that precious alone time was spent beside Scorpius, too. If he wasn't slumped over a chair trying to catch a quick nap at Malfoy Manor while Scorpius met with the rest of GWLF then he was on a cot in the back of his office at the Ministry between lunch and dinner with Malfoy.

They would have breakfast together before Harry shadowed him, while he met Albus and a group of other LGBT supporters to poster every empty sliver of wall space they could find in Hogsmeade with rally information. Then they would break so Scorpius could spend time with his family—daily teatime, which Harry found oddly sweet—and Harry could swing by the Ministry to pick up new work and fill out as much paperwork as he could before dinner. Because dinner was Scorpius' forte: an early dinner, then meetings or rallies or appearances or working with artists on posters, followed by clubbing to get the word out or handing out pamphlets in Diagon Alley. And then Scorpius would talk Harry's ear off afterwards, so hyped up on adrenaline that Harry couldn't refuse him a late tea at what was quickly becoming Harry's favourite café.

Well, it wasn't Harry's fault that they really did have the most fantastic blueberry muffins in all of Europe.

It all added up to what Harry actually found to be a very educational experience. He learned a hell of a lot more than he ever wanted to about LGBT issues, frequented the hottest gay spots (unsurprisingly discovering that Madam Puddifoot's was one such hotspot for Hogwarts' LGBT students), and learned as much of the terminology as one would ever need to know—tops, bottoms, twinks, rimming, the lot of it and more than he could try not to overhear. On top of all that, Harry realised that he didn't mind spending so much time with Scorpius, who was not only fun to hang around but well-spoken and a whiz at spells to boot. If he wound up someday having Scorpius for a son-in-law, assuming Scorpius changed the anti-gay Wizarding laws he wished to, Harry didn't think that would be such a bad thing after all.

In fact, the more time he spent around Scorpius, the more he saw the way he and Al interacted and how fluid their relationship was. The two of them bantered, nudged, and touched one another all day, and still were thrilled to see one another the next morning at the six o'clock sunrise. Harry found himself longingly wishing for an ounce of those sorts of feelings for himself—the days when he couldn't stand to be apart from Ginny were long gone, and now he didn't have anybody to fill that void. If he managed to find someone the way Al found Scorpius, Harry would consider himself lucky.

"So, the daily rags are really dragging you through the muck, aren't they?" Kingsley asked, as he began stacking files atop Harry's desk an afternoon several weeks into his assignment with Scorpius.

"No more than usual, I guess."

Kingsley pulled a face. "Harry. This morning's _Prophet_ said Scorpius Malfoy turned you queer."

Harry laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I hadn't seen that one, actually." He wondered if they had a photo of him munching on his blueberry muffin while Scorpius sat across in full drag and spouting his aspirations for the future of LGBT rights. "Do you have a spare copy? I'm sure Scorpius would be quite amused."

"It's not funny, Harry," Kingsley argued, finishing his stack of papers with a loud smack of the final one on top. "Are you taking any of this seriously?"

"Of course I am." Harry flipped through a few of the files at random: suspects, who were about to get questioned on sending hate mail to Scorpius and his family, along with about a dozen other young witches and wizards. "But it's the _Prophet_ , Kingsley. I don't give a toss what they think, even if their bigoted homophobia is exactly what Scorpius is trying to stop." The look Kingsley gave him then was so unsettling that Harry just wanted to ignore it. He pulled a file out to hold it over his eye level so as to block Kingsley out altogether.

There was a heavy pause, after which Kingsley added, "But it's definitely not good for your image."

Harry shrugged, setting down the file so he could gather the lot of his paperwork together. "What image? Harry Potter, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy Who Lived, Kingsley's Pet, which is it?"

"You don't seem as bothered by Malfoy as you were three weeks ago."

"Well, three weeks ago, I was a bit uneducated, to be frank." Harry perused his neat stack of files and then began to shrink and pocket them one by one, easily fitting the two dozen files into his meager pockets. He paused on a photograph of a singularly angry looking wizard in dark red robes, his scowl somewhat familiar and a little unnerving. "Scorpius is harmless. Or, to be more precise, I don't feel uncomfortable around him anymore. And he actually has some good ideas regarding equal rights for all wizards." Finally, Harry tucked the last file away, looked up, and met Kingsley's gaze. "Do you realise that two witches or wizards can't file for joint guardianship for children? The law won't let them adopt, even though there are dozens of orphanages I can name off the top of my head in overflow and in need of decent parents who will care for and love these abandoned and neglected children." Kingsley was staring at him in a way that got right under Harry's skin. His brows lifted in question. "What?"

"You know the Ministry's stance on gay adoption," Kingsley said, evenly. When Harry didn't immediately answer, he added, "Don't you? It's been law since well before I took office, and it's been voted on numerous times, with the majority in favour of the status quo."

Harry furrowed his brow. "As you and I well know, the majority can be dead wrong."

The silence Harry found in the small office was suddenly claustrophobic. While Harry had never specifically talked to Kingsley about gay rights, maybe he had just assumed the Ministry's supportive silence stance was just a placeholder while they decided what to do to make a real change. Then again, just three weeks ago Harry had nearly brushed Scorpius aside for what Harry had perceived as threats not serious enough to warrant his time, so he wasn't exactly innocent in the whole mess. It was just that now that he knew how Kingsley and the supposed majority of the Wizengamot felt, it couldn't be ignored. It was a basic rights issue, the same, Harry thought, as not offering werewolves proper health care or unfair employment wages for Veela. How could Kingsley and the Wizengamot not see that these things were not so different from each other?

And then both at once, the two men spoke. Harry said, "Don't you see that they deserve basic human rights?" and Kingsley said, "It's simply unnatural, don't you agree?"

The words hit Harry hard, shocking in their simple disgust.

Unnatural.

_Unnatural._

Harry thought of Al. Sure, he hadn't exactly been just another average boy growing up and when he experimented with black eyeliner at fifteen, yes, Harry had worried that his son wasn't 'normal', but unnatural? Harry loved Albus, no matter if he was gay or straight or wholly uninterested in sex at all, and the idea that someone could find his son— _his son_ —unnatural boiled his blood. Even Scorpius, who was as different as he was well-spoken, was not unnatural just because he felt himself in skirts instead of trousers. Who had any right to call anybody that, just because they decided to do something that was beyond the social norms? Once upon a time, he reminded himself, he had fought for the unnaturals too, the werewolves and giants and goblins and house-elves alike, unbiased in his diligence. And now it was time for fight for Al and Scorpius and all the unnaturals who were getting pissed on by the Ministry right under his nose.

Harry's fingers curled into fists at his sides and his jaw clenched. He didn't trust himself to speak without shouting, saying things he'd later regret, but the words were already bubbling up on his tongue, angry and heated.

"The Ministry's stance is insulting," Harry snapped. He was almost pleased to see Kingsley flinch at his tone. "And it's bloody _wrong_ , Kingsley. If you can't see that, then maybe you've been Minister for too long and the politics are getting to you."

Slowly, Kingsley's expression altered from one of surprised shock to troubled annoyance. "I'm not the one who voted on this particular matter, Harry, and you ought to watch your tone."

"My tone is definitely not the problem." And then, Harry couldn't stop the words from flooding out. "It's this whole issue. You stood by me when I fought for werewolf rights the year after you made me Head Auror. You were still standing by me when I brought the case of slavery against house-elves before the Wizengamot. And you didn't bat an eye when I worked with Fleur Delacour to abolish unfair employment rates for Veela. What is the difference between giving all creatures the basic, decent rights that they deserve, as we have both fought for, and applying those same rights to witches and wizards who are simply trying to make lives for themselves loving who they love? The Wizengamot is made up of insane dolts and the Ministry is led by the same if nothing's ever going to change just because of a singular majority's vote. It's not just what's good for the masses, it's about what's right for those who don't have a vote too."

"I should assign another Auror to the case," Kingley snapped, gesturing with both hands in the way he did when he was angry and things were spiraling beyond his control. "You're playing this too close to the chest. You're too invested."

Harry scoffed. "Once upon a time, it wasn't a bad thing to be too invested, Kingsley. I'll take that over apathy any day."

"I’m reassigning your case and that's that! You can't simply make your own rules, Harry, and you know—"

"My case, my choice," Harry growled. Before Kingsley could stop him, he stormed out of the office, wondering if that would be the last time he'd be allowed to set foot in it again. Kingsley was not easily swayed of his opinions, and Harry had said enough to warrant his termination from the Ministry. But frankly, Harry just didn't give a shit.

~~~

Harry arrived at Malfoy Manor to pick Scorpius up almost immediately after the incident with Kingsley. His blood was still boiling, his adrenaline racing through his body, sizzling through his veins. He both felt like tearing down the streets screaming and heading to the Leaky for a long night of knocking back Firewhisky to mellow out. Had he just ended his twenty-six year career as an Auror with the Ministry over gay rights? While it still felt like the right thing to do, it had Harry's brain buzzing with what ifs.

When Draco answered the door instead of one of the usual unnamed house-elves, all of that buzzing energy went into acting as calm and normal as was possible. The last few times Harry had been by Malfoy Manor, they'd hadn't spoken at all, with Astoria coolly greeting him after a house-elf showed him in.

"Can Scorpius come out and play?" Harry asked, unable to resist as a grin spread across his face.

Draco cringed. "Merlin, Potter, are you drunk? Scorpius is not Side-Along Apparating with you if that's the case. I will not have—"

"I'm not drunk. I'm just…well, it's a long story, and I'm sure you're not interested in the details."

"You'd be correct in that assumption."

"But honestly, I'm fine. Just excited, I suppose. Is Scorpius ready?"

Draco looked torn between inviting Harry inside and leaving him to rot on the doorstep, but after a moment's silence, he swung the door open and Harry took that as invitation to enter. "Scorpius is…well…"

Harry quirked a brow. "Preening?"

A bit of colour found its way over Draco's cheeks as he shrugged. "You've noticed."

"He tends to do that. Nothing to be embarrassed over."

The door snapped shut, and Draco's tense look was heated with anger, all of it directed with laser precision towards Harry. "I'm not embarrassed, Potter. Not over my son, not ever."

Draco's comment bordered on affectionate, something beautiful underlying the sensitive statement, and Harry found himself impressed, at a loss for how to respond. The two stood in silence until the sound of heels clicking drew Harry's attention from Draco and to the top of the stairs in the foyer. Long legs descended, a slender figure coming into view, and if Harry was sure it must be Astoria making an appearance to see who was at the door, he was certainly mistaken.

Scorpius descended the rest of the way, his feminine form snug in a powder blue off-the-shoulder dress with silver glittering heels. His hair was left down, in a surprisingly boyish style swept across his pale face, which bore only a few lines of makeup around his eyes and lips, just enough to extenuate his beautiful blue eyes and soft, full, pouty lips.

"Harry!" Scorpius said, practically beaming. "You're early. And of course I'm late, but beauty is an art form, you know."

"So I've been told," Harry replied, his eyes sweeping over Scorpius' body just once, because then Draco's eyes were on him and Harry felt somewhat uncomfortable about looking at all when he was a forty-five year old straight divorcee and Scorpius was the queerest man Harry had ever met and Draco's son and any number of other things that flagged reasons he should keep his eyes to himself.

"Shall we?" Scorpius said, slinking his arm in Harry's.

"Don't be home too late," Draco attempted, standing somewhat awkwardly behind them and glowering at the place where their arms touched.

"Father," Scorpius groaned. "I'm nineteen and this is a very important night—a night that could determine just how many people we can get at the pride rally—and it's imperative that I mingle for the cause and—"

"And you live under my roof," Draco finished, though his tone had softened. "Be home at a suitable hour, or I will forbid the house-elves to make you breakfast."

Scorpius grinned. "That's what you always say. And they always manage to sneak me something anyway."

That colour snuck back into Draco's cheeks again. "Yes, well…"

"Have a good night, father. I'll be home at as suitable an hour as I can, I promise. And besides, Harry will take care of me. Won't you, Harry?"

"I, erm, well—"

"Stunningly convincing," Draco drawled. He waved them off, feigning disinterest. "Keep him safe, Potter, or I'll have your balls."

 

~~~

Hitting the clubs was just one way Scorpius recruited new members for the Gay Wizarding Liberation Front, easy locations to mingle with like-minded witches and wizards. It was funny just how many of them happily supported Scorpius' cause after grinding with him on the dance floor or taking a few shots at the bar. And the more names and signature of support Scorpius received, the better his chances of actually taking a bill in front of the Ministry.

The club they Apparated to, Mixed, was a small brick building with a packed dance floor, bar, and lounge. It was just about as trendy, Scorpius assured him, as anything in New York or Paris, even more liberal and aligned with the cause because it allowed the mingling of Wizard and Muggle, gay and straight, all under one roof. So the small population of Muggles who knew this place existed were the kind not to disclose its location to just anybody. It was exclusive on Sunday and Thursday evenings, when Wizard and Muggle celebrities were said to frequent it.

Upon arrival, Harry tailed Scorpius to the bar and instantly began babbling, his nerves finally catching up to him. He went into detail about his argument with Kingsley, what he'd said, how Kingsley had acted, and how Harry finally left in a huff of indignity.

"And then I more or less told him to stuff it," Harry ended, a bit lamely but with a weak smile. "I may be out of a job because of it, but it was the right thing to do."

There was a wetness in Scorpius' eyes that definitely wasn't there before Harry told his little story, and was that Scorpius' lip trembling too? Harry braced himself for the inevitable hug, for Scorpius to weep at his shoulder, but it didn't come. Instead, Scorpius spoke.

"Harry," he breathed, emotion thick in his young voice. "That's…that's amazing. I could never get a private audience with the Minister to say those things, but you said them better than I could have dreamed."

Here, Harry couldn't help but grin a bit. He felt proud that Scorpius thought he'd said and done the right things, and he wasn't sure when he began counting on Scorpius' approval, but it felt good. "I somehow doubt that. I'm not good with speeches, and you're brilliant at them."

Scorpius reached out and clasped Harry's wrist. The touch sent a shockwave of something hot and tight twisting through Harry's gut, so unexpected that he thought he might be getting warm in the face.

"But you're brilliant at speaking from the heart," Scorpius said, squeezing Harry's wrist affectionately. "A few years ago, I read the transcripts from your debates on the Werewolf Rights Bill of 2007, and I knew then that you were a man of good conscience, able to do and say the right things because you truly feel that they're right. That makes you a hero, more than anything else you've done. Well, besides saving the world from Voldemort, I guess," Scorpius added, removing his hand from Harry's as he winked. "Let me buy you a drink for that."

"No, that's all right, Scorpius, really," Harry said, waving him off. "I'm still your protective duty, for at least the moment. I shouldn't—"

"I'm giving you ten minutes off," Scorpius said, smirking. "Just one drink, Harry. Something wildly flamboyant and sugary-sweet, just like me."

Beside them, a man in dark red robes sat down amongst a group of boys in spandex and vinyl. He looked more than a little out of place, so much so that Harry wondered if he'd accidentally stepped into the wrong club and was currently regretting his decision to stay. Then, two women shouldered between them, snogging as they stumbled against the bar. That, Harry thought, could make the straightest of men stay in a gay club.

Scorpius ordered several drinks, and the one that Harry found guided into his grip was large and pink, a martini of some kind with dazzling silver sparkles bubbling out the top and an oversized red cherry stuck through a phallic-shaped wand wading in the center of the glass.

"I'm supposed to drink this or ask it out to dinner?" Harry asked.

Scorpius' brows rose and then he burst into laughter and slapped Harry's back. "You do have a sense of humour! Come on, Harry, drink up—there's more punch than liquor in there, I promise, so you can swing right back into big burly Auror mode after you finish it."

Harry shrugged and raised the glass in a toast, clinking it against Scorpius' equally flamboyant chocolate cocktail in a glass shaped like a penis. It was almost distracting seeing Scorpius' delicate fingers curled around the fake bollocks at the base, and unfortunately, Harry was beginning to realise why.

"To equal rights," Harry offered. Inwardly he added, _and to keeping things platonic and not suddenly engaging in a sexual identity crisis with my son's lover and gayest man on the planet_.

Scorpius' smile was dazzling in return. "Well put."

The man beside them leaned across and ordered several Firewhiskys. "And one for the road, all around," he said, smiling at Harry.

"I really shouldn't—"

"Nonsense!" Scorpius said, snagging the drink for him with his thanks. "Did I say a ten minute break? I meant a ten hour one."

Having taken a sip of the pink concoction Scorpius ordered him, Harry was thirsting for the Firewhisky more than ever. So he nodded his thanks and lifted it up. "To ten hour breaks, then," he said.

Scorpius laughed with him and started to chug the rest of his drink, urging Harry to do the same with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. Watching Scorpius drink out of the slit of a cock, even a fake plastic one, was unavoidably and impossibly…sexy. The thought hit Harry hard, the sudden image strangling his thought processes. He would not let some random urge brought on by guilt about his actions towards the LGBT community get in the way of his ability to be a rational adult. A talk with Hermione or Ginny was in order before he jumped to any conclusions about these sudden feelings he had for Scorpius.

So Harry tried not to think at all, since his brain was foggy anyway, and tipped his drink further back, chugging a whole lot faster than Scorpius seemed to be able to keep up with. Harry nearly choked watching the white whipped cream drizzle out the sides of Scorpius' mouth and down his chin, ribboning along the curve of his throat, sticky on his fingers around the base of the plastic prick glass. But he won anyway, because he'd had enough pissing contests with Auror trainees to know when he could beat them at something, and tipping back Firewhiskys was a specialty he'd learned to cultivate well.

Still, it left him dizzied for a moment after he slammed the glass down in triumph, a grin nevertheless curling his thin lips. Scorpius continued to guzzle his drink until every last ounce was gone and then licked the head of his glass for good measure or to drive Harry absolutely insane maybe, though Harry knew Scorpius couldn't have guessed he'd suddenly developed feelings that weren't strictly by the book. Scorpius wouldn't possibly entertain that kind of notion. It was improbable, and as he was in love with Harry's son anyway, it was also impossible. And Harry didn't even know where the feelings had come from; they were best quashed before they matured into anything serious.

"And now, since we're at a club," Scorpius said, drawing in close. It was like he'd read Harry's mind, only he was drawing out all of the horrible, bad, shouldn't-dos rushing through Harry's head. "Have a dance with me."

Harry wished he had another Firewhisky to choke on. It would make his decision a lot easier if he couldn't breathe. "No," he said, and since it came out so harsh and because Scorpius gave him a kicked puppy dog face that could melt the ice caps, he added, "I don't really, erm—"

"Of course you don't dance." Scorpius rolled his eyes and twined his fingers through Harry's, holding both of his hands and tugging them to get Harry off the barstool. "But I am what's commonly known in my community as a queen, and as such, I'm used to getting my way. So. I simply won't take no for an answer."

Being pulled up, Harry finally stood, and his fingers tightened in Scorpius' instinctively. Scorpius looked down at their hands like Harry had just turned them blue, and it made Harry feel very hot all of a sudden, and very stupid. What the hell was he doing? He gingerly began to pull away, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Scorpius stopped him with a squeeze of his hands instead keeping them in his tight hold.

"You're very cute when you're nervous, Harry Potter," Scorpius said, and this time when he winked and nodded to the dance floor, Harry had absolutely no words to stop him.

The music was awful, not Harry's kind of thing at all, but it was edgy and raw and every thump of the bass knocked against his ribcage and made the whole scenario feel animalistic, like they were entering a dangerous jungle where anything could happen. And Merlin help him but when Harry saw Scorpius moving to the rhythmic beat, every sway of his hips was like a whip to Harry's heart. Scorpius lifted his arms above his head, shook the glitter from his blond hair, and swayed like his body was born to move with the music. Scorpius became the song, a sultry mix of youthful innocence and adult exuberance, the skirt of his dress riding up his pale thighs and clinging in all the right areas. Harry's palms began to sweat, the temperature in the room notched up until it was difficult to breathe.

It was awkward at first, with Harry just gaping like a dolt, his hands immobile at his sides, but then Scorpius reached out and guided one of Harry's hands against his hip, the other to his face.

"Move," Scorpius said. He drew closer, fitting his lean, tall, lithe body to Harry's front, with Harry's right thigh nearly sliding between his long legs. "I'm not going to bite."

Up close, Harry could smell the scent of chocolate and liquor on Scorpius' breath, a mix he found undeniably erotic. It reminded Harry of being young, of nights up late with Ginny on their honeymoon, raiding the mini-fridge in the Muggle hotel they found in the Caribbean. But any similarities ended in that basic scent, because Scorpius was all himself—Malfoy sharp angles drawing his face through the flashing lights above but a delicacy he'd nurtured all on his own, a grace that made Harry wonder just why Albus wasn't in his position, his arms wrapped around Scorpius and promising never to give him up.

Scorpius Malfoy was a drug, and Harry was well under way to intoxicated addiction.

Finally, Harry began to move, just a subtle rock of his hips and pet of his hands up Scorpius' flat sides, hidden under the barely-there silk of his dress. Harry's hands itched to rumple the material, clench it in his fist until he could get it hiked up Scorpius' naked thighs. The heat between them overwhelmed Harry, who was trying so desperately to keep his hands off, but they had a mind of their own, gripping every inch of Scorpius' body that he could reach, and when they landed on his pert arse and Scorpius moaned in response to a curious squeeze, Harry felt his prick harden, balls tightening, his entire body responding to that singular noise that was so incredibly wrong and yet so dangerously _right_.

Scorpius dipped his head, panting against Harry's neck as he pressed a tentative kiss there. "Harry," he whispered.

Harry gripped him tighter, held his tall, thin body so tight that he feared it would leave bruises. Why wasn't Scorpius telling him to stop? Why wasn't he shoving Harry away, calling him an old pervert, screaming at him about professional boundaries? Why wasn't he the least bit surprised to have a straight, divorced wizard groping his body like a sixteen year old virgin?

"Are you all right?" Scorpius continued, because maybe Harry was breathing a little faster, a little heavier, every exhale coming out in a thick huff to Scorpius' ear, rustling the fine hairs on his head, raising gooseflesh that he ached to lick and nip at.

"I…I don't know," Harry murmured. He felt a little drunk, and that was worrisome, because not only was he supposed to be on duty but Scorpius' pink lips were terribly tempting, kissing at the spot just behind his ear that made him see stars, and he'd barely had enough liquor to warrant all of these insane, impulsive feelings and desires, to forgive the way his hands roamed over Scorpius' body as freely as if he owned it. "I just feel…"

The music pulsed on despite Harry's broken sentences, all the incomplete thoughts skittering through his brain. Scorpius pulled away enough to look him in the eye, and Harry drowned under the look Scorpius gave him. What could he be thinking, taking advantage of Scorpius like this? Why couldn't he stop himself?

Harry swore Scorpius was leaning in, expectantly even, but Harry was an adult. A very much _older_ adult with morals and a divorce under his belt, three kids, one of which was Scorpius' age for Merlin's sake, and to top it all off, Scorpius was still a bloke somewhere underneath it all, even beneath the silk chiffon and glittering lace that teased otherwise. 

"I just feel…very different sometimes." Letting the words slip, he noticed that Scorpius had closed a few more inches of distance between them…or had he done that himself? It was getting hard to tell, whatever professional lines he had drawn erased to nearly naught. "Not quite normal. I don't know what that means. I've never…" He placed his hands on Scorpius' biceps, the silk of his dress dipping off one shoulder, and tried not to squeeze that soft, supple skin. It was maddening, how cool Scorpius felt to Harry's fevered grip. "I've never…" The words were getting hazy and difficult. "I've…"

Something was wrong. Little red flags began to pop up in Harry's head. Something was very, very wrong, and he was very, very incapable of figuring out exactly what. The more he tried to grasp the thought, the worse he felt, like he was plummeting down a deep, dark chasm and there was nothing to brace his fall if he ever reached the bottom.

The room began to spin wildly out of control. Harry registered Scorpius' mouth against his own, the murmured words, "It's all right, Harry," whispered just before they kissed, and then Scorpius' tongue had sunk into his mouth and all too soon pulled away because there were shouts, several flashes of light, and then Scorpius shoved Harry to the floor and Harry had no control over his limbs to stop his fall. He heard a crack, tasted the tang of his own blood, his face flat against the dance floor beside a pair of sparkling silver heels.

"Stay down!" Scorpius snarled, his voice low and unbelievably sexy, somewhere very far away and echoing through the chasm of darkness.

Harry lifted his head against his better judgment and Scorpius' insistence, and it took most of his strength just to focus his gaze. The clubgoers had parted through the middle of the dance floor, scrambling to get away from a burly man in blood red robes with his wand outstretched. Synapses fired in Harry's brain, the pieces of a strange puzzle falling into place. Harry recognised him and knew suddenly what was so wrong. He'd seen the same wizard at the bar moments before, buying drinks, sliding one to Harry with a wide, easy smile. He'd seen him at the café three weeks ago, talking to his friend, motioning at Scorpius. And he'd seen him on the file Kingsley had given him just hours ago at the Ministry. _Nolan Needles_ , a small-time criminal with several counts of unauthorised use of dark magic, disorderly conduct, and trespassing under his belt and a list of petty offenses yards long at least.

It Harry quick enough to disorient him. Needles had slipped something into his drink. Needles had been stalking Scorpius this whole time. Needles was going to kill him, like his letters said he would. Needles was going to, was going to—

In slow motion, Harry saw the moment unfurl. Needles lifted his wand. His thick lips formed around words Harry couldn't understand, but he knew they were bad, and they were meant for Scorpius, and all at once Harry was on his feet with his own wand raised. He shoved Scorpius aside as Needles cast his spell, and shots of pain ricocheted through Harry's system, like someone had set his nerves on fire. Harry shouted his trademark _Expelliarmus_ despite the excruciating pain, only momentarily stopped by the spell when he lost feeling in his legs. A second disarming spell later and a red light shot past Harry's ear, knocking Needles between the eyes and sending him sprawling across the room.

Harry never saw Needles land. There were several flashes of bright white light, a voice calling his name, and the last thing he saw was Scorpius' pink, painted mouth moving through the darkness as it curled around the edges of his vision. Then all was dark and quiet and gone.

~~~

When Harry came to, the faint sound of monitoring spells hummed around him and the throbbing pain in his head deepened. Stiffly, he attempted a cursory glance around the room, taking in the pale furniture and white walls, the medical equipment and potions. He knew he was in St. Mungo's, and as that realisation dawned so too did the memories of how he'd come to be there. The club, Needles, _Scorpius_.

Harry tried to swing his legs and get up, but he was stopped halfway through the motion. Panic swept through his system as he looked down, his legs immobile beneath the covers and completely unresponsive to his desire to get up. He couldn't feel them. At all. With dread building in his chest, Harry tried to wiggle his toes. Nothing happened. He tried to lift his knee. Nothing. Just numbness and a terrible void where he knew his legs should be. He reached down and felt them, heavy beneath the sheets, seemingly otherwise normal except for their lack of feeling and motion.

Just then, the glass door slid open and Harry looked up in time to see Lily's tear-streaked face. He fumbled to find his glasses to see her better.

"Dad," she whined.

Harry smiled weakly and opened his arms, his eyes stinging for reasons he couldn't describe. "Lily."

Lily threw herself against his bed, practically crawling into it to get into his arms. "We were so worried!" she squeaked, her voice raw as she squeezed Harry hard enough to knock the wind out of him. "The Healers didn't know what to do—you were so unresponsive to the potions and spells!"

At the door, Ginny appeared, her arm around a sweaty, sad-looking James, his eyes unreadable but unbelievably lost. James had never liked hospitals, much as he'd been in them often with Quidditch injuries.

"All right there, Dad?" James offered, and when his voice cracked, Harry's heart could have broken for how it beat.

"Come here, James," Harry said, and he let James curl into his body from the side opposite Lily. He pressed a kiss to the crown of James' head and then rested his cheek against his son's hair. With a sigh, he turned his gaze back to Ginny, who was leaning in the frame of the door and toying with the chain of the necklace around her throat. She smiled at him, but her pale face showed her worry. Whatever spells he'd been hit with had truly done some damage, and he felt lucky to have this second chance with his family.

"Al's just down the hall with Scorpius getting something to eat," Ginny said, answering Harry's unspoken question before he had the sense to ask it. "They'll be just as pleased to see you up and about."

"Scorpius is all right?" Harry asked.

Ginny nodded, her smile terse. Harry squeezed his children tighter against him and then finally released them when he felt James getting wiggly under his arm. He never was one for hugs and intense affections. "What was I hit with?" Harry asked. He felt he should wait until he trusted his voice to ask about his legs.

"That fucker Needles," James snarled, "Hit you with _Necrosis Totalis_."

"James," Ginny said, but she didn't sound as adamant about pestering James as usual.

"Well he is a fucker," James defended, folding his arms. "If I had my Beater's bat and they didn't have him locked up at Azkaban, I'd have his head, Dad, I really would."

Harry grinned. "I'll bet you wouldn't even need a Beater's bat."

" _Harry_." Ginny didn't seem to be able to keep the grin from her voice either.

"Well, Uncle Ron's taking care the, erm, _interrogation_ "—the way James said it made Harry picture Needles getting his arse handed to him, which in turn made him grin more—"And since Needles' curse was meant for Malfoy and you stupidly got in its way because you like playing the hero," James continued, "You didn't get the brunt of it. Otherwise, you'd be rotting from the inside out and—"

"I know how the spell works, thanks," Harry said, clearing his throat. He didn't need a reminder of just what could have happened to Scorpius, had he not jumped in front of him. "And I do not like playing the hero, James. I was on duty."

James raised both brows in challenge. "The mediwitches said you had been drinking. You never drink on duty."

Heat flooded Harry's face and he knew he wasn't doing a good job of willing the colour out of his cheeks. "Well, I—"

"That was my fault," Scorpius said, appearing in the doorway beside Ginny and then drawing in closer, Albus hovering close behind. Instead of Scorpius' usual extra-rainbow with a side of queer sparkles clothes, he wore a simple gray tunic with skinny tan trousers beneath and a pair of yellow trainers. He looked like any normal boy his age, like he wasn't a queen and crossdresser. But Harry found he missed the eccentric side of Scorpius a bit, seeing him dressed as such. "Harry had been doing such a good job shadowing me, so I gave him the night off and bought drinks." Scorpius smiled delicately, but his expression was so sad that it pained Harry right in his heart. "Hello, Harry.'

"You're all right?" Harry asked, and heat was creeping everywhere now, the memory of their kiss fresh in his mind, of the way Scorpius moved against his body, how he responded in turn.

Scorpius shook his head. "Fine. Thanks to you."

"And you're alive thanks to Scorpius in turn," Al said, standing back, presumably so Harry couldn't hug him. "You ought to be thankful he learned how to take care of himself before the Ministry finally managed to put you on his case."

"I am thankful," Harry said, and his tone was pleadingly honest. He felt guilty now more than ever for his feelings towards Scorpius now that Albus was here.

"We're just glad you're all right," Ginny said.

Harry nodded and settled back against his pillows. "When do they say I can leave?" The silence that followed his question left Harry worried. He swept his gaze around to his family, to Scorpius, and then sighed, looking up at the ceiling. "A while, I take it."

"You may not gain feeling back in your legs," Scorpius blurted. "The Healers assigned to your case can't figure out how to counteract the damage. The n…necrosis really, erm…"

Scorpius had such a hard time finishing his sentence that Al finished it for him, "They said the necrosis severely damaged your spine and the nerve endings in your legs. You're really lucky you weren't hit head on or you'd…well…"

Harry rubbed his face. "Be dead," Harry finished for him. "Yeah, I get it."

His primary Healer entered a few minutes after and cleared his family and Scorpius out of the room so she could run some additional tests on Harry now that he was awake. It consisted of a lot of poking and prodding, question-asking of _where does it hurt_ and _can you feel this_ before she handed him a sedative potion and told him he needed to rest.

"Do you have any questions before I leave?" Healer Pickwick asked, frowning a bit. "You've been awful quiet, and my nurses tell me you're always stubborn when you're here for injuries."

Harry forced a smile and shrugged. Then, a sudden thought hit him and he spoke up. "What kind of potion did Needles use to spike my drink?"

She glanced down at her parchment until she found her notes and then shook her head. "Just a simple muscle relaxant drought," she said. "Nothing serious."

That didn't make sense, though. Harry had been feeling a lot of sudden, strange things just after he drank that firewhiskey—hadn't his intense attraction to Scorpius been some kind of side effect to the potion?

"Could it have caused euphoria, loss of inhibitions, or, erm, unusual attraction to someone?" Harry asked, trying not to give too much away.

"No," she answered without hesitation. "You would have felt completely normal except for the loss of sensation in various parts of your body as the potion worked through your system. So dizziness, fatigue, trouble concentrating, lethargy, and fever would be common side-effects, but certainly not any loss of inhibitions or anything of that kind."

Because Harry's head was a jumble of emotions regarding what he felt towards Malfoy (and why) and a mess of indecision and fear over his potential future of never walking again, Harry downed the potion without a further fight and let sleep inevitably overwhelm him, peacefully and without struggle.

~~~

Harry slept a lot over the next few days, his family and Scorpius staying at St. Mungo's nearly the whole time, with visits from Ron, Hermione, and their kids, Luna, Teddy, Neville and Hannah, the Weasleys, and even Hagrid, who barely fit into the room and made a few jokes about buying Harry a cane like his own, which was just about as thick as Harry to be able to support Hagrid's weight. Even Draco and Astoria had come by, which had been by far the most awkward visit of Harry's life and he'd almost wished they hadn't thought to swing by. Draco had been quiet nearly the whole time, with a muttered _thanks, Potter_ under his breath and a stiff handshake on his way out, Astoria no more engaging as she struggled through small talk about St. Mungo's food and how stale Harry's sheets were.

The feeling fortunately was starting to return to his legs, feet first and very little elsewhere, though Healer Pickwick said with patience and the right exercise, he should be able to walk again in a few months' time. It was refreshing to hear someone say that, to ensure him that he could go back to work, that he wouldn't be an invalid for the rest of his life. For some reason, the thought of never being able to walk again had frightened Harry nearly as badly as dying had when he'd walked into the Forbidden Forest at just seventeen to defeat Voldemort. Ginny told him she'd hire him a pretty maid to do his chores, but that only made him feel worse—he'd never been good accepting help off the bat, and if he ended up in a wheelchair, he was damned if he'd hire a single person to help him. Invalid or not, that didn't make him helpless. He'd thought instantly of Mad-Eye, missing a hell of a lot of parts but no less an Auror for it.

It was after the first week being bedridden in St. Mungo's that Healer Pickwick finally told his family, in as polite a tone as she could muster, to get the hell out and come visit after Harry started his walking therapy. They didn't need to stay by his side every waking hour if they needed to return to work, which James and Ginny did, or if they had social commitments, which Lily seemed keen on, walking arm-in-arm with a bashful and apologetic Teddy.

"She'll be fine, Dad," Al assured him. "Teddy's quite mad about her, actually."

"That doesn't exactly set my mind at ease," Harry grumbled. "Teddy's…older." He wanted to say _more experienced_ but that just made Harry think about what Teddy might be experienced in and he was not about to think of Teddy with his daughter in that way. His gaze swung to Scorpius, who was looking at him a bit oddly from the chair across the room.

"What's wrong with Lily taking an older lover?" Scorpius asked.

Harry about choked. "Teddy is _not_ her lover."

Scorpius laughed, waving apologetically. "I'm sorry. Then, what's wrong with taking an older boyfriend?" He shrugged and glanced to Albus, then back to Harry. "I think it's romantic. Older men, in my opinion, are far better, erm, boyfriends anyway."

The temperature in the room swelled. Harry wished they weren't talking about his only daughter and his godson, but he also got the feeling that Scorpius was speaking from experience. He wondered what Al thought about it, and in fact, he waited for a while for Al to speak, but Albus was engrossed in a pamphlet he'd picked up in the lobby about mediwizard positions at St. Mungo's.

"Do you really think Lily cares about Teddy's age?" Scorpius continued. "I, personally, wouldn't care, so long as I had feelings for said older boyfriend, which she obviously does."

Again, Harry waited. He even looked pointedly at Albus—didn't he care that his boyfriend was talking about experienced older boyfriends and how much better they were than blokes his own age? Didn't Al find that insulting? Or at the very least, wasn't Al jealous? Harry was practically eyeing Al to death at that point, until Albus finally glanced up from his parchment. Strangely, when Al looked up, Scorpius looked down at his nails, like he'd been studying them this whole time.

"You know what," Al said.

This was it. Albus was going to rail on Scorpius for talking about his older boyfriends, was going to tell Scorpius off for it, was going to fly into a torrent and rage in jealousy. Harry was ready to talk him down from it, ready to ensure Scorpius stopped putting his foot in his mouth.

"I think I'm going to head off," Al finished, stretching his arms above his head. "You're all right, Dad?"

"Erm…"

"I'll keep him company a while longer," Scorpius offered. "Besides, the Ministry hasn't sent over his replacement yet, so…he's really all I've got."

Al shrugged. "You'll be at the rally tomorrow, though, yeah?"

"I'm running it, aren't I?"

With a grin, Al clapped Scorpius on his back. "Great." And then waved to Harry. "I'll swing by after the rally. Good luck at your therapy. Happy walking."

When Al was gone, Harry fixed Scorpius with a glare.

Scorpius gave a nervous chuckle. "Alone at last?"

"Why would you bring up older blokes in front of Al like that?" Harry demanded, shifting as best he could in the uncomfortable bed to prop himself up on his elbows.

The look that crossed Scorpius' face was nothing short of confusing. "Well…I did mean it, Harry. I don't see anything wrong with someone Lily's age—or _my_ age for that matter—taking a boyfriend who's as old as Teddy or, erm, even as old as, say, you."

The pause Scorpius took was long and weighted. It had been a while since Harry had honestly flirted with anybody, years at this point, but he knew right away when someone was hitting on him, and Scorpius was doing a terrible job hiding his intentions. But what Harry couldn't figure out was the same as it had been since they'd met: if Scorpius was involved with Al, what was he doing trying to win Harry over too? It was time to let Scorpius down as easily as he could.

"Scorpius," he began, but his voice betrayed him. He wanted Scorpius. He wanted to tell Al that he was interested, that he was so sorry but he'd kissed Scorpius, that he felt something between them. Selfishly, Harry wanted Scorpius for himself, and it made him feel awful. Al certainly didn't deserve that.

"I'm not being very subtle, am I?" Scorpius asked, drawing closer. His fingers landed on Harry's chest, brushing several wrinkles out of the t-shirt he wore. "And I know you said you were straight, so I backed off as much as I could, but then at the club, you were…" His fingers crawled up over Harry's broad chest, to his neck, up to cup his cheek. "I don't know what to think at this point, Harry, please tell me I'm mad to want to give this a shot."

This was it. Harry couldn't stand it any longer. "And what about Albus?" he snarled, glaring. "What are you going to tell him?"

Scorpius frowned and his brows lowered in confusion. "Why would I tell Al anything?"

For a moment, they looked at one another, both confused, and then they spoke over one another at the same time, Harry snapping, "Because you're dating him," and Scorpius saying, "It's not as if we're dating." Scorpius blinked in response to Harry's words, and Harry felt his stomach flip-flop at Scorpius'.

"You're not…dating my son?" Harry asked, relief far too clear in his voice. "But you two—"

"Are just very, very good friends," Scorpius said, laughing. "Is that why you were acting so odd? You thought he and I were—"

"Yes, I did."

Scorpius scoffed. "Well, no offense, but Al is definitely not my type. And I'm so far off the mark of Al's type in turn that you should tell him what you thought. It'll give him a good laugh." Scorpius' thumb stroked the corner of Harry's mouth. "Al thinks I'm the biggest queen on the planet. He loves my politics and my sense of humour, but that's as far as it goes. Besides, he is rather more romantically invested in what we call bears in the community."

"What are—" Harry paused, shook his head. "Nevermind, I probably don't want to know, and it's none of my business." Though Harry could put two and two together, and Scorpius was as far from a 'bear' as Harry was from a twink. Strangely, it brought him little comfort to know he was getting the terminology down. "I already know far too much about my childrens' love lives." He brought a hand up to Scorpius' wrist and tentatively touched his fingers to Scorpius' skin. Electricity coursed through him. It was so sudden and so overwhelming, to want Scorpius—a bloke, a boy, a queen—but he wouldn't have traded the feeling in for anything. It meant that he was alive, that he was human, that he could get a second chance if he wanted. But it was jarring, just as strange as if he'd suddenly woken up and decided he wanted to be a plumber instead of an Auror. "You're nearly a child yourself," he argued, more with himself than Scorpius.

"Rubbish," Scorpius said, the word nearly snarled. "I'm nineteen, fully legal in this and every country."

Harry winced. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then you mean you're old," Scorpius said. "Which I also don't care about. The only thing that matters…is whether or not you're interested."

 _Yes,_ Harry wanted to shout. _Yes, I'm interested and I've been interested since well before the club and that terrifies me._ But his voice wouldn't work. What if this was just a big mistake?

"Just be honest, Harry. I'd rather be let down now than be strung along just to ease the blow." He leaned in and smiled, though the expression he wore was a bit sad, as if he was used to being rejected, which Harry could hardly imagine was the reason for it. "I'm a big girl; I can take it."

With a laugh, Harry shook his head. "I'm…" 

It shouldn't have been so difficult. _I'm interested_. Two little words. Five easy syllables. But it meant dating, it meant starting a relationship, and it meant being in a world he wasn't sure he was ready for. Normally, the thought of what the _Prophet_ might say was furthest from his mind, but now it was all he could see. He'd have to explain this to Ginny, to the Weasleys, to Ron, to Draco for Merlin's sake, to his children. And he'd have to face it as a reality for himself, to be queer or bisexual or whatever it made him because he wanted to kiss Scorpius and didn't care if he was male or female or neither, just that he was Scorpius Malfoy and that's who Harry fancied. Explaining all of that, to even Scorpius just now while they were alone, seemed far more daunting a task than jumping in front of a Killing Curse or dancing naked at the Ministry.

"You need time," Scorpius said, stepping back with a sighed little laugh. "No, it's all right. I'm pushing things, because I would be crazy _not_ to push things—you're quite a catch, Harry—but I'm scaring you off, and that's not the object here." He flashed his usual dazzling smile and sat across from Harry patiently. "We can start simply. Maybe first I get a new protective detail, because mixing business with pleasure is obviously not your forte."

"I'd like that," Harry said. "I can recommend someone, although if my word is still good enough for Kingsley, I can't say."

"Although who can put up with my schedule as much as you did?" Scorpius asked, grinning. "I've got engagements through the week and a hearing in front of the Wizengamot, and if anybody wants me dead and buried with my pearls it's those old gits."

Harry chuckled. "The Ministry just needs some fresh ideas. Every few decades, I think it deserves the chance to be reinvigorated." That made Harry sound incredibly old. _Every few decades_ , like he had lived through oh so many. But he had lived through one renaissance and the Ministry was due for a second by now, he thought. "I'd actually…like to help, with your cause, if I can. Not as a protective detail, but as someone whose name could offer support for some of those decision-makers in the Wizengamot."

"Such an ego, Auror Potter," Scorpius purred. The way he addressed Harry made Harry's stomach clench. His voice dripped sex and sweetness. "And if you're serious, I'd be very grateful. Anything you can do help the community would just be marvelous. I'll have to buy you a nice gown to wear to the press conference."

Harry grinned at the look Scorpius gave him. "Scorpius, trust me, you do not want to see me in drag, I promise you that." Looking Scorpius over, Harry thought of something. "Speaking of…what's with the boyish attire? I've barely seen you in trousers, let alone a shirt and not a blouse."

"Oh." Scorpius looked down at his plain clothes, then back up to Harry. "Well, I just, I didn't want to—you were already getting so much attention from the press about this case, about the spells you dodged, about your legs, and I didn't want to draw attention to—"

"Don't ever change," Harry said, his voice suddenly throaty and raw. He meant that, more than he could put into words. "Not for me, not for the _Prophet_ , not for anybody. You're brilliant the way you are."

And maybe that's what Harry had been trying to say before but couldn't. He smiled, offered his hand, and was glad when Scorpius stood to take it and squeezed it in turn, affection pouring from his grip.

"Anyway," Harry murmured, trying to clear the frog from his throat. "What exactly has the _Prophet_ been saying?"

"This and that," Scorpius hummed, his eyes glazed as he twined and untwined and then twined again their fingers, measuring and fitting them with a ginger touch. "I don't mind the press—naturally I'm used to them by now—but if I'm known for anything, Merlin, I don't want to be known as the Queer Who Almost Killed Harry Potter."

Harry laughed, the sound more like a roar as it echoed through the small room. Scorpius laughed with him and placed a hand on his thigh, massaging. Though Harry saw his fingers curled and knew his leg was under the sheets, he wished more than anything that he could really feel it and looked forward to the day when he could.

~~~

On Tuesday afternoons, the Leaky was quiet. The usual crowd didn't pick up until Thursday and the Gay Liberation Front didn't roll in until the weekend, the only others inhabiting the bar today including Hannah's new bartender, Ollie, and a few silent patrons who kept to themselves with their heads down. This was how Harry preferred it—uncomplicated by politics, a place he could sit in contentment with his thoughts.

It was what he'd been doing a lot lately, hobbling his way through the door in a way Ron said was _just like Mad-Eye, you should see yourself, Harry!_ and taking a seat to rest his bones. The Healers said a walk every day would help him, but he had so many protective spells to keep his half-numb legs working that it was still a stretch, cane or no. It had only been three weeks, but progress was progress. The Healers told him to take it easy, but easy was never Harry's thing. A stroll to the Leaky, a pint or two, and a few moments of clarity called to him. With time off from Ministry duties—whether that was because of his injury or because Kingsley was trying to weed him out for replacement, he wasn't sure—this was all he had.

"Figured I'd find you here."

Harry looked up and smiled dimly. "Hey, Gin."

"Uh oh, you're either drunk or in trouble, and I don't think I care to know which, especially not at two in the afternoon, you lush."

Harry pulled a face but stood up with some difficulty and embraced her despite his stiffness. "I'm neither, actually. Just enjoying a break from the strange turn my life's taken. I wanted something of the usual back, I guess."

Ginny pulled away from the hug and took a seat at the bar alongside him. "Elderflower, please," she added, waving Ollie over.

Harry sat himself back down and cradled the Firewhisky he'd been nursing for the past ten minutes. "It's a miracle I'm here, frankly—between getting potions and treatment at St. Mungo's and helping Scorpius with his legislation and appearances, I've barely had time for the Leaky."

"And so you thought you'd spend your free time at your favourite pub to wind down," Ginny cooed, nudging him. "Very predictable, Potter." When her drink arrived, she smiled at Ollie and thanked him, tipping the glass to her pretty mouth. "So, are you going to tell me what's on your mind, or should I wait until you've had a few more and you spill your guts naturally?"

With a laugh, Harry turned to face her. "Nothing's on my mind." As soon as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Malfoy was on his mind. A great deal. And with Malfoy came a torrent of confusing thoughts that were still working themselves out. They'd been quietly dating since St. Mungo's, a butterbeer or two together at a café, a late night blueberry muffin at their café, tea at Harry's just once because Scorpius had given him that look and Harry knew that look but sex with Scorpius was too soon or it wasn't soon enough and Harry was still trying to come to terms. And there was still the notion of telling people, Ginny in particular, Albus, Draco. "Why do you say that?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I know you, Harry, better than most. And I can nearly see the wheels turning in that head of yours." Her expression softened as she laid a hand on his forearm. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." The denial came out in a huff that Harry instantly regretted. He sighed and brushed his hair back. "I suppose I've just got Scorpius and his cause on the brain. He has a way of working under my skin, in both good and bad ways."

"Mmm." Ginny sipped her drink, watching him, and then waved him to go on.

"I just…think he's right. About the cause he's fighting." 

Ginny just looked at him like he'd said it was necessary for humans to breathe. She wasn't the least bit surprised, and what reason did she have to be when Harry had been with Scorpius nonstop since his accidental injury? And Ginny agreed with it all, too, Harry thought. Harry was just, as usual, late to the party. 

"I didn't think much of it before the accident, before my assignment to shadow Scorpius, but listening to him talk, seeing all the young faces who look up to him… There are kids in there, Ginny—kids younger than Lily, who think or know or whatever it is that they're different, and what Scorpius says holds them together." Harry looked down into his drink, swirling the glass gently to watch the amber liquid glisten in the dim bar lighting. "I keep wondering…did I make things more difficult for Al? Does he regret not being able to talk to me about his issues? Am I prejudiced against him? Could he—"

"Harry, stop," Ginny said, setting her glass down with a thud. "You're going to make yourself crazy. Albus doesn't hate you, even if you piss him off on a regular basis."

"I do," Harry agreed, frowning.

"But he doesn't hate you," she reiterated. "He and I had a long chat last night, actually, when he came by to pick up Lily for that Witch's Blood concert."

"What did he say?" Harry urged, his eyes trying to read Ginny.

"That he was glad to see you having a good time at the rally, that he was happy you were taking an interest in Scorpius' cause. We talked for a bit about general things, this new notion he has about working for St. Mungo's, and I made sure to tell him that we love him no matter who he loves in turn." Ginny grinned a little, that pretty crooked kind of grin that made her look twenty years younger, the kind of grin Harry fell in love with when he was seventeen and the war was finally over. "He promptly told me to shove it, of course, because you know he's just like you when people make him feel things, but he was blushing so furiously. It was adorable. And after I poked his cheeks for a bit, I told him I was serious, that you and I aren't going to judge him, no matter, and we only want him to be happy."

Harry frowned just so. "I wish I had said that to him."

"There's still time for that, Harry, he's not dead," Ginny said, sighing as she smacked his shoulder. "You're so thick. It's a wonder I ever accepted your proposal and Al was even born, let alone James or Lily."

He couldn't help but laugh, even though the sound was choked a bit with emotion. Maybe he was a bit drunk, after all. "I was the Hero of the Wizarding World," he teased, grinning leeringly at her. "You couldn't resist."

"Oh gods, Potter, give me a little credit. I have standards, you know."

As they shared a laugh and fell into a comfortable silence, Harry made a mental note to owl Al as soon as he could to plan a time to talk. They could go for lunch, or maybe Harry could pull him aside at the next rally, or maybe it would all just naturally fall into place somehow and it would be when Harry least expected it. He just knew he wanted to tell Al now, to ensure nothing bad ever happened to him.

"So, what _is_ going on with you and Scorpius, by the way?"

Ginny's question made Harry spit out his Firewhisky. "Excuse me?"

"You and Malfoy Junior," Ginny said, shrugging. "You're dating, aren't you? Oh, Harry, don't look at me like that. I already told you—I know you." She smiled. "I see the way you look at him, and Merlin if he was straight, I'd be looking at him too. He makes a beautiful woman when he wants to."

"That's _not_ why—"

"I didn't say it was. I'm just commenting. I think it's sweet, actually. Though I never thought you were into men. If I'd have known, I'd have owled Charlie a long time ago."

"Charlie's gay?" Harry gasped. And then, thinking about it, he nodded. "Oh, well, yeah, I guess I could see that."

"And you?" Ginny prodded. "Are you gay, Harry?" Her smile was there, just on the fringe of a sad kind of expression. "And for how long?"

Harry reached out and took her hands, squeezing them. "There was never a moment when we were married that I thought about anybody else, male or female, Gin. I was madly in love with you. When we started talking about divorce, even then I knew I'd always love you."

"Oh, Harry. But what about Scorpius then? I'm not mistaken, am I?"

Harry took a breath and shook his head. "You're not. We've been secretly dating for the past few weeks. But whether that makes me queer or gay or something else…I don't really know. He's the only man I've ever met that I fancied. Honest."

Ginny patted his hands and then let them go. "So. If you fancy Malfoy so much, what on earth are you doing drinking alone? You should be snogging him silly in some dark alley or pushing him against the nearest wall because you can't wait to have him."

"Ginny!"

She grinned. "I have a very vivid imagination, Harry. But I mean it. We're not getting any younger, and your job is so dangerous—if you can find a spare moment to seize an opportunity like this, you'd better do it."

Looking down into his half-drunk Firewhisky, Harry felt the sudden realisation that Ginny was absolutely right. There he was, sitting around having a pint by himself, when he could be with Scorpius, who made him feel insurmountable joy and pleasure and like his life was meaningful in a new way. There was no decision to be made anymore. It had been made for him, in his heart, in the same gut feeling that told him to be brave in the face of death and despair, that told him to trust his friends, that told him if second chances existed, he had the opportunity to grab one for himself.

"Thanks, Gin," Harry said, leaning across to kiss her cheek. He paid his tab, left a hefty tip, and hobbled out to the street. With a somewhat clumsy step and a turn, he Disapparated, Malfoy Manor on his mind.

~~~

"Is Scorpius home?" Harry asked, eyeing the feeble house-elf who looked up at him with watery eyes.

"Yes, Master Malfoy is home, and he said to admit Harry Potter if he came but not Auror Weasley, because he hates him."

Harry grinned and stepped in slowly, watching so his cane didn't stab the poor house-elf in the foot. "Thanks. Yeah, Ron isn't great at first impressions. Is Scorpius in his room?"

"Yes, Harry Potter, shall Dory show you the way?"

"No, thanks, I can find him." Harry got up to the fourth step and then paused, glancing back down, bracing his tired body against the stair rail. "Say, Dory, would you mind doing me a favour?"

Dory nodded, her eyes glassy. "Oh! A favour for Harry Potter, of course, sir! Anything that Dory can do would be any honour."

"Are Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy home?" At Dory's nod, Harry put a finger up to his lips and in a hushed voice said, "Can you keep them away from Scorpius' room for at least an hour?"

Dory glanced aside, down the long hallway that Harry knew led into the formal dining room, a living area, and a sitting room beyond. "Yes. Dory will find a way, Harry Potter."

Harry didn't quite care what mess Dory might get into trying to keep Draco and Astoria busy, but he wasn't about to have this evening ruined because one of them thought to drop by Scorpius' bedroom while Harry was pledging his affection to him. Or…doing anything else, for that matter.

At the top of the stairs, Harry hobbled down the long hallway, passing a loo and washroom, two spare bedrooms, a study, and he was just starting to worry about overexerting his walking abilities when he finally arrived to what was unmistakably Scorpius' bedroom. It had a pink door with white glittering flowers on it, the sight of which made Harry smile. He wondered at what age Scorpius had done that, how it went over with his parents, and suddenly Harry wanted to know the whole story and more, what colour the door was before that and what colour it might be in five years.

With a sweaty palm, Harry lifted his fist to the door and knocked.

"I'll be out in a minute for tea, Dory," Scorpius called.

Harry's stomach clenched. Was he really going to do this? Well, he'd come this far. There was no turning back. "It's Harry, actually. Can I come in?"

From inside the room, Harry heard a rustle of noises, a few thuds, and a moment later the door swung open, Scorpius' pale face flushed an exquisite pink, his feminine form clad in nothing but a sleek, silky bathrobe. Scorpius' hair was still damp from his apparent bath, and he smelled like lavender and honey, looked even sweeter.

"Harry," Scorpius exhaled. The sound of it was enough to drive any man—but especially Harry—wild. "You're…Merlin, did you climb the stairs? In your condition? I could have come down, you know, you didn't need to—"

Before Scorpius could finish, Harry pushed forward and stepped in, and though he was only working with half-good legs and a cane, he still emitted that raw kind of power he knew right away would intimidate Scorpius enough to have him step back to match every one of Harry's steps forward. Once he had Scorpius' back against a bedpost, Harry lifted his wand and waved it at the door, which slammed shut and locked. He waved it again and protective and silencing spells covered the space with ease. When he was done, he pocketed his wand and lifted his hand to Scorpius' damp chest where the robe left a sliver of naked skin exposed. The moment his fingers touched Scorpius' skin, he knew he'd done the right thing by coming here. There was absolutely no time to waste.

" _Harry_ ," Scorpius said again, and his face was even pinker, even prettier, his grey eyes lit up like silver, pouty lips drawn up in a slight grin.

"I think the amount of grief those stairs gave me was worth what I'm about to get in return," Harry said, his voice low and dripping with need. His fingers continued to brush aside Scorpius' robe, until the silk material slipped right off one of his pale shoulders. Harry repeated the motion with his other hand until the only thing that kept Scorpius remotely decent was the belt tied around his slender waist, and even that was beginning to rise under the unmistakable sign of Scorpius' arousal.

"Oh," Scorpius hummed. His eyes were starting to go dim, lids lowering, like he was torn between laying back to let things happen as they would or watching Harry at work. "But…my parents—"

"Won't want to interrupt what I'm about to do to you."

Scorpius groaned, and Harry moved in for the kill, his fingers sliding down Scorpius' flat, hairless stomach, with barely a chance to marvel at the smoothness of his skin before he'd undone the belt and let Scorpius' robe pool at his feet. Harry looked him over, and whatever fear he'd felt of this moment over the past few weeks, all of it vanished, replaced with a numb sort of fire that started in his gut and radiated out until his toes were curling in his trainers.

And then they both moved at once. Scorpius threw his arms around Harry and Harry gripped Scorpius waist exactly how he'd wanted to do it at the club that night, until he was sure he might hurt Scorpius if he didn't slow down. The kiss they shared was brutal and rough, Scorpius' tongue sinking into his mouth and Harry sucking it between his lips with a feral, animalistic grunt. One of Scorpius' hands tangled its way into Harry's hair and pulled, grabbing handfuls like Harry was the only tether Scorpius had on Earth. Harry, in turn, reached around and grabbed Scorpius' perfect, pert arse, squeezing it because Merlin it had been a long time since he'd felt like this, and he wanted to map and know every inch of Scorpius' skin before the night was through.

They didn't break for air until it was clear that the room was far, far too hot to have any clothes on. Scorpius, being already nude, helped Harry by yanking at his t-shirt, hauling his belt off with a whip that seared into Harry's brain, and when Scorpius began to sink to his knees, Harry was already well on his way to nude as well.

"Wait," Harry growled. He gripped Scorpius at his biceps and pulled him back up to his feet. "My legs… I don't think I can stand up while you—you know."

"Get on the bed, then," Scorpius demanded, gesturing. "Because if I don't get my mouth on you now, I'm going to scream."

Harry clumsily sat on the edge of the bed and though it was a little embarrassing to have Scorpius help him with his trousers, pants, and shoes, it was worth it for the look he got when he lay back and Scorpius' eyes swept possessively over him.

"Merlin's sodding beard," Scorpius growled, his voice that low noise Harry had heard at the club when he told Harry to get down. It was so unlike Scorpius' usual voice and such a turn-on for it. "I have to admit, even in my fantasies, you weren't this gorgeous. Like a bloody statue, Harry, you perfect specimen."

Harry laughed as Scorpius leapt onto the bed and then stopped laughing when Scorpius straddled his naked body, the tight little crease between Scorpius' arse cheeks settling over Harry's swelling prick. Harry pulled Scorpius down over his body for a deep kiss, eliciting a musical whimper that sent whatever blood remained sinking into his cock. He reached down, again grabbed Scorpius' arse with one perfect cheek in each of his large hands, and this time spread them. Harry thrust his hips, sliding his cock up between Scorpius' cheeks, rubbing his length until he felt the crown of his penis nudging Scorpius' hot, tight arsehole. Scorpius whined again and bit Harry's mouth as Harry teased them both with the promise of what was to come.

"Oh gods," Scorpius moaned, finally pulling his mouth free of Harry's so he could pepper his jaw and throat with love-bites. "Want to put that big cock in my mouth, Harry, and then I want it inside me."

"What about what I want?" Harry asked, releasing Scorpius' arse in favour of tangling his hands, both of them, through Scorpius' damp hair.

"Isn't that what you want?" Scorpius breathed, perfect lips agape, his tongue almost lolling out in his ecstasy. "To fuck me? To come inside me?'

"Yes," Harry groaned. "Yes, of course. But…I want something else first. Come here."

Harry's hands swam down Scorpius' body and settled at his hips, hauling them up and forward, until Scorpius' erect cock was scant inches from his face. From the look on Scorpius' face, Harry could tell it wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. But Harry took a great deal of satisfaction in pleasing his partners, in learning every little touch and lick and nip that made them buck and writhe and scream. Scorpius was no different. Male or female, Harry wanted to please him, to know what Scorpius liked, to bring Scorpius close to the brink and then be inside him for his climax.

"You don't have to," Scorpius panted, his face dotted with sweat. "I know you've never…and it's all right, I promise. I like—"

Harry didn't let him finish. Nerves pushed aside, Harry leaned forward and kissed the base of Scorpius' prick, silencing Scorpius' words altogether. His cock was long and skinny, with a perfect red crown and thick veins winding up the length. Scorpius was hairless everywhere except right above it, just a small tuft of blond curls that Harry found his fingers petting through, doting on the coarse texture in strict juxtaposition of all that creamy skin. His lips mouthed and his tongue slaved over the shaft, deep, open-mouthed kisses to slick his way, leaving a cooling trail of saliva in his wake. And only when he was satisfied and had one of Scorpius hands in his hair again did Harry move on to the head, teasing the underside with his tongue, drawing it over the slit and tasting Scorpius' precome. It wasn't all that different a taste, and Harry found it unbelievably erotic to know just how worked up he'd got Scorpius in less than ten minutes.

Stroking down Scorpius' pale thighs, up his smooth tummy, Harry leaned forward and craned his neck, swallowing Scorpius' cock head between his lips. He sucked, he took in another inch in experimentation, and then he tried bobbing his head until he found a rhythm that Scorpius must have liked, if the way he gripped and pulled at Harry's hair had anything to say about it.

When Harry pulled away, it was only to look up at Scorpius and demand, " _Lubrication_ ," waiting for Scorpius to understand that he wasn't just going to suck him off and let that be all.

"Oh—oh, Merlin, Harry, yeah, hang on, it's—here." Scorpius fumbled to lean over to his bedside table, knocking Harry's cane from its perch against the drawer in order to pull out a bottle. When he popped it open, the scent of peaches and cream wafted through the air.

Harry had never smelled anything more erotic in his life. He grabbed the bottle, pouring a hefty amount over two of his fingers and then dipped his head back down to continue sucking Scorpius off. As he did, his fingers reached around and between Scorpius' pale arse cheeks, spread them, and then began to penetrate him.

One finger, slowly, in to the first joint and pulsing with lethargy. When Scorpius keened, Harry moved further, to the second joint, then down all the way to the knuckle, out, and back in again. He established a rhythm, fingering Scorpius as he worshipped his cock. Scorpius' nimble fingers tangled in his hair, petting through the mess, and then plucked Harry's glasses off his face because they had started to steam too badly for their gaze to meet anymore. That Scorpius wanted to see him, really see him like this, was another instant turn on. Between Harry's legs, his own prick was rock hard and impatient to be buried in what he now knew was tight, perfect, hot heaven.

A second finger joined his first, and when he began to scissor Scorpius open with weathered patience that was somehow there despite his urgent need, Scorpius pulled away with a gasp.

"Harry—Harry, you're going to make me come, and I don't want to until your prick is inside me." Scorpius reached back and touched Harry's cock, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his body. "Please, please fuck me or let me suck you or-or something, or I'm going to explode like this."

Harry laughed, the sound somewhat choked in his throat, hoarse from panting and from giving head. "Yeah," he groaned. "Yeah, I want to fuck you, and I want to feel you come while I do it."

Scorpius shuddered and scooted back, reaching for the bottle of lube and pouring a bit extra onto Harry's length. He gave it a few hard, tight strokes and grinned. "Next time, I'm putting this down my throat, and you can't stop me, cripple."

Another laugh tumbled out of Harry's throat. "You just wait until I'm not crippled and see what happens with a mouth that smart."

"Nng, Merlin, I like this side of you." Scorpius leaned in for a kiss. "I love it, in fact."

And then Harry had no words. Scorpius began to sink onto his length, and Harry was engulfed in white-hot pleasure that took his breath away. He gripped Scorpius' hips, tried his best not to buck up and just start fucking him, and then nearly screamed when Scorpius actually started to move and ride him.

Harry watched as much as he could, but given the state of ecstasy he was in, it was a wonder he lasted more than five minutes. Scorpius was gorgeous as he rode Harry's prick, leaning back, arching his body, jerking his cock, raising both hands over his head in languid stretches or tugging his hair because the sensations were too much.

When Scorpius came, the splash of it was hot and arousing, spilled there against Harry's belly, mingling with the trail of dark hair that wound down to Harry's prick. Scorpius made a noise like Harry had never heard as he came, and inside him, Harry felt the constricting heat tighten to an almost unbearable degree. He wished his legs were in better condition, because all he wanted to do then was roll Scorpius over, get on his knees, and fuck him into the sheets. He remained in the same position though, and bucked as much as he could, sweaty and hot and unbelievably close.

Then, Scorpius began to talk, to purr beautiful nonsense at him, little hot words like _don't stop, Harry, just use me_ and _I want to feel your come up my arse, and then I want you to lick it up for me_ and _Merlin, you're perfect, such a big prick, Harry, so big_ , until Harry shouted a long grunt and released inside Scorpius' arse.

For a while, the world melted away. There was only Scorpius and the connection of their bodies and the hazy realisation that they'd just shared something that Harry had only shared with one other person in his life.

This was real, love like a sunset, ethereal and uncommon, worth the wait and heavy with importance.


End file.
